Bittersweet
by Ellyrianna
Summary: What if Rose took Jack up on her dismantled mantle?


*Disclaimer-I own no part of Titanic, yet I do own this alternative ending. Poo. I want to own the Irish dude Tommy!*  
  
  
  
The shouts of the freezing passengers had started to quiet. Although, everywhere around her, at least one person was still calling for the boats. By now, Rose knew that any hope of the boats getting back soon had sunk into the depths of the Atlantic with Titanic.  
  
However lifeless Rose's body felt, she could still feel, through the endless numbing sensation that had taken her, Jack's fingers pressed firmly into her palm. Perhaps-no, truly-that was the only thing she held on to.  
  
Looking away from the wood of the dismantled fireplace that she lay on was harder than she thought it would be. Drawing her eyes up from the ice encrusted wood, she looked at Jack.  
  
He was paler than anyone Rose had ever seen before, (she might have corrected herself if she had seen her own face) and tinged with a drop of blue as well. Icicles had formed in his hair and his lips were painted indigo. Her heart jumped at first-his eyes were closed. Shaking his hand roughly, his eyes fluttered open briefly, breath rising in a misty cloud before his face.  
  
Rose kissed his hand. It seemed colder than hers, and that, she guessed, was from hours soaking in the chill of the Atlantic. Jack's eyes had settled closed again, although his breath remained visible, she swallowed a sob and slid off of her makeshift raft.  
  
Pulling him forward, she wrenched her hand from his frozen grasp and pulled him easier. Yanking him by his hands, Rose shoved him up onto the fireplace. Placing her weight gently so as not to tip it over, she crawled on next to her love.  
  
Jack trembled atop the once-was mantle, not used to the cold air on more than his face. Although it took a great effort, Rose locked her arms around the man and clutched at his ice encased shirt, breathing soft words in lower than a whisper into the frozen cloth.  
  
Painstakingly, Rose opened her eyes. A faint light was shining in the distance, along with a thin voice that rang in the depths of her ears. Kissing Jack's forehead, she whispered to him.  
  
"Jack, there's a boat." He didn't respond, but Rose could feel his frozen breath on her neck, and that was enough for her. Somehow, she knew that no matter how hard she tried, her voice would not reach far. "Come back." Futile, weak, like a dry wind blowing through the desert. "Come back! Come back-"Rose broke off. The boat was slipping away. Glancing around helplessly, she noticed an officer's whistle still perched in his frozen lips. Firmly grasping Jack's hand, she whispered, "Come on, Jack," and pulled them off of the raft.  
  
A great crack of ice was after them as they broke free. Rose half swam, half yanked her way over to the officer, keeping Jack's pale head above the water. Pushing his hands around the officer's own small raft-which was a deck chair-she took his whistle and blew shrilly, harshly, into the near still air. Five, six, seven, eight-the boat was coming back for them.  
  
Wrapped in a plaid blanket, lying in the single boat that had returned, Rose looked up at the sky. Dawn was streaked across the pale blue abyss. Thinking of blue, Rose glanced down at Jack.  
  
Also clad in a blanket, and lying in Rose's weak grasp, Jack's breath was ragged, yet better than it had been out in the ocean. Head turned to the side and eyes closed, Rose doubted that Jack even knew that he was no longer in the bitterly cold ocean water. But that didn't matter to her-they were both alive, and together, and that was the only thing she really had a true feeling for.  
  
Her body had steadily begun to warm under the blanket, and the ice in her hair had melted, as well as her clothes, soaked through as they were, beginning to dry. Shifting a hand from among Jack's dirty blond locks to his brow, feeling his skin, cool and smooth-it seemed that he too had begun to thaw.  
  
A shadow rippled in the water ahead. Rose looked from the man in her arms to the ship that loomed like a ghost up ahead. The words 'Carpathia' were stenciled neatly along the side.  
  
Rose smiled gently as she saw this. The officers in the boat paddled slowly and steadily, occasionally glancing around at the contents of the boat.  
  
Jack stirred under Rose's loosened grip as she stared at the Carpathia. Rose looked down at him and frowned, stroking his brow and tugging a corner of his blanket over a revealed shoulder. He grunted in his sleep, shifting under Rose's touch.  
  
As the tiny boat drew nearer to the Carpathia, Rose nudged Jack. He muttered something, and shifted, but didn't wake.  
  
Nudging him again, she whispered, "Jack, we're here." His eyes remained closed, but he stilled.  
  
"Where?" He murmured. His voice was thick, but the same.  
  
"At the ship." Her voice never rose above a whisper. Taking her hand from his brow, she began to stroke his brown-sprayed, golden locks. Jack's eyes drifted open halfway.  
  
"What?" He creased his brow and looked around.  
  
"Carpathia, the ship that's taking the survivors on board." Threading her fingers in his hair, enjoying hearing him speak.  
  
"Survivors?" He blinked and sat up halfway in her arms before cursing and lying back down.  
  
"Yes. And you're one of them." Jack was silent in Rose's arms as the officers rowed up to the Carpathia. Ropes were thrown down over the sides of the ship. These the officers fastened to where the first ropes once were, called up, and everyone was silent as the boat was pulled up and over.  
  
Rose's fingers were once again woven into Jack's hair, caressing his scalp with one hand and clasping her blanket over her head like a hood with the other. Jack was sleeping again. He had been doing that for nearly the whole of the two days they had been passengers on the Carpathia. Rose worried for him, because he still felt a bit cold, and at nighttime would curl up close to him on the deck and try to warm him. Despite that, he was nearly normal again.  
  
In the background, Rose heard one of the crew members telling a man- apparently wealthy-that none of his kind would be on this deck; the steerage deck. However, the man appeared to ignore the comment and continue on.  
  
Rose peered around her hood and looked at the man. She swallowed hard when she saw Cal, gazing around disgustedly at the passengers. Turning back, she saw that Jack was sitting up halfway, trying to see who she had been looking at. When his eyes fell on Cal, they grew wide and he whispered, "Rose! Rose, its Cal!"  
  
Rose pulled her hand from her lover's hair and clapped it over his mouth, letting go of her hood with the other hand to pull his blanket close over his head. For at that instant, Caledon Hockley spun around, his eyes swinging over the whole of the deck. Rose ducked her head, shutting her eyes, hoping, praying, that he wouldn't see them.  
  
Cal's gaze fell onto two figures huddled close together, blankets wrapped tightly around them. Taking a step towards them, he saw them bunch closer- and that made him raise a brow. Stepping towards them, he cleared his throat loudly.  
  
"Excuse me?" Cold, full of himself, like always. Rose made a face in the shadows of the blanket. "Excuse me?" Louder, like 'how dare you ignore me!' Rose swallowed again and screwed up her voice.  
  
"Yes?" Jack lay compressed under Rose's weight. Practically suffocating, yet warm, he stinted himself.  
  
"Did you hear the name-come now, let me see your faces." Rose would have cried if not for giving herself away. Jack bit his lip. Drawing her hood close about her face, she looked up at Cal. Cal sighed. "Come now, take that thing off of your face."  
  
"I can't-I'm sick." Bad, but believable.  
  
"I see. Well, how about your friend?"  
  
"He's sleeping."  
  
Cal rolled his eyes. "Well, then, never mind." Cal groaned and walked away grumbling. When he was out of earshot and eyesight, Rose sighed and prodded Jack.  
  
"You can sit up, Jack-he's gone." Jack remained still in her arms. "Jack?" Rose pulled back the blanket to reveal his eyes closed. Leaning forward, she sighed with relief to feel his breath on her face. Smiling, she pulled him up and into her lap again, kissing his brow. It was truly a give to be alive, with both the terrible and the good.  
  
  
  
Jack died two days after getting off of the Carpathia. Even Rose wasn't sure how, but she knew he must've been happy-he was in America, and he was with her-how could anything be more perfect than to be in your home and with the one you love? 


End file.
